


High Price for Procrastination

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Banter, Bargains, Copying, Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, assignments, procrastination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 06:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15989432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: In the pages' wing, Gary teaches Jon that there is a high price for procrastination.





	High Price for Procrastination

High Price for Procrastination 

“Gary.” Jon was too busy fishing a quill, an inkwell, and a sheaf of parchment out of his satchel to bother glancing at his cousin across the breakfast table crowded with dishes. After all, he had a deadline for writing–truly copying if everything went according to his completely above board and honest plan in which his clever cousin played a key role–to meet. “Give me your history assignment.” 

“No.” Gary punctuated his refusal with a crunching bite into an apple he had snatched from the center of the table. 

Since their days in the nursery, Gary had been prone to prickliness whenever he judged that Jon was being too commanding. Trying to be more humble, he tried requesting, “May I borrow your history assignment, Gary?” 

“By borrow do you mean steal my thoughts to pass them off as your own brilliance?” Gary’s spoon scraped against the sides of his porridge bowl in a way that made it clear that he was more concerned with scrutinizing his meal for suspicious lumps than eating it. Jon wouldn’t have cared about Gary’s table manners (he wasn’t Master Oakbridge who lived to have hernias over such trivialities as confusing the salad and dessert forks at feasts) if they didn’t indicate that Gary happened to be in a particularly pedantic mood this morning. In anyone else, a pedantic mood would have been a sign that person was in a foul temper, but in Gary it usually meant that he was feeling especially upbeat and prepared for lively intellectual engagement with anybody who dared to tackle his challenging questions. 

It was too early for a war of wits with Gary but Jon needed to copy his history paper before breakfast ended and time was already running short since pages never received long enough meals, so Jon answered with what he hoped was a charming smile, “I intend to copy your work but that’s perfectly honorable. Some Mithran monks spend their entire lives in the cloisters copying manuscripts written by others, don’t they?” 

“They do that because that’s what they’re assigned to do.” Gary looked as unimpressed with Jon’s logic as he did the suspiciously lumpy porridge. “For Sir Myles our assignment was to produce our own original thoughts and present them in essay form. Sir Myles will certainly notice if you copy my ideas.” 

“I won’t copy them word for word.” Jon’s attempt at charm slipped away as his patience faded. “I’ll change some words so Sir Myles won’t suspect a thing, I promise.” 

“The ideas will be the same even if the words are different.” Gary rolled his eyes. “Why couldn’t you have asked for help on the essay yesterday? I didn’t see you in the library at all.” 

“That’s because I had an outbreak of filial piety.” Jon thought that sounded nobler than admitting he had visited his mother to admire her ladies. He hadn’t realized before this year how beautiful ladies were–how soft and sweet in demeanor and aroma–but now he ached to be around them whenever he could. The color they brought to his life made him more acutely aware of how drab, how brutal in its banality the pages’ wing was. 

“Filial piety? That’s an interesting euphemism for mooning over Aunt Lianne’s ladies.” Gary had an abiding fascination with euphemisms and had apparently immediately figured out what Jon’s referred to. “Unfortunately for you, Jon, nobody outside of the Yamani Islands cares about filial piety.” 

“You’re one to talk with your focus on not angering your parents too much,” retorted Jon, noting inwardly that it was only Gary’s concern with not infuriating his parents to a vague degree he deemed as excessive that checked his otherwise boundless desire for mayhem.

“That’s not filial piety.” Gary shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. “It’s a prudent policy of appeasement given my father is the most fearsome fencer in the realm and my mother delights in reminding me that she brought me into the world and can take me out as well.”

“She can’t take you out until she’s given your father another heir,” Jon pointed out with the practicality that came from knowing since he could talk that he was the answer to his country’s prayer for an heir. “Heirs don’t grow on trees, you know.” 

“If mischievous me makes it to manhood, that’s why.” Gary chortled. Then his face fell into a more serious, calculating expression as he offered a bargain Jon suspected he had been working on since the beginning of breakfast. “You may copy with discretion my paper if you take me with you to meet your mother’s ladies next time you visit them and provide me with a suitably grand introduction to the ladies.” 

“You drive a hard bargain.” Jon scowled. The ladies were so wonderful that he didn’t want to share them with anyone but he wouldn’t have any time to spend admiring them if he was assigned a mountain of punishment work to climb through, so he reluctantly decided that there were enough ladies in his mother’s service to divide between him and Gary. “Still, you have me cornered, and I accept.” 

“You pay a high price for procrastination, Jonathan.” Gary gave an uncanny imitation of Duke Gareth’s sternest tone as he removed his essay from his satchel and handed it to Jon over the steaming tureen of lumpy porridge. “You ought to thank me for teaching you such an important lesson.” 

“I’ll thank you to be quiet before I throw an inkwell at your head,” muttered Jon, quill screeching a protest as he hurriedly copied Gary’s paper with just enough alterations to conceal the fact that he had done so.


End file.
